Boxes of memories ...

Every time I open a draw in his room, or clean up something from the shelves, closet or floor, I can clearly hear Scott's voice: "what the hell do you think you're doing?" rattling me AND the assorted items spread across his bed, his dresser and the various other surfaces ... I can't enter his room without a guttural connection to the years of fearing him finding me poking around through is treasures.

There were the absolutely beautiful Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars in his dresser, the cool stuffies in the closet, and the other odds and ends that he had tucked away here and there ... as a kid I spent many a terror filled hour poking around and exploring in my Big Brother's room, all the while KNOWING that if I was caught a beating would be the inevitable outcome.

It's funny ... even today, I still feel a shudder of fear as I enter his room and sort through things ... I know he's passed from this mortal coil, but the lesson was drummed into me well ... "LEAVE MY STUFF ALONE !!!" along with an accompanying beating, some curse words and a few other acts of brotherly 'love' taught me well !!

Yet, here I am, having to sift through the assorted odds and ends that Scott has left as a legacy ... yesterday I tackled his closet.

I sorted through his clothes, tossing the old worn out tee-shirts, bagging up the usable ones that hold no interest for me, and folding those that I can either use, or just want to keep because they speak to my soul ... along the way I found bits of paper tucked into his pockets, a few stale pieces of gum, and the odd item that left me shaking my head ... I've come to realize that my brother was in many ways an enigma ...

On the exterior there was a rough and crusty curmudgeon who prided himself for being a real S.O.B. when necessary, but inside was a soft, warm and very sensitive heart that broke easily, and that he protected fiercely ... Scott was unbelievably sentimental. I got a hint of that early in the cleaning up at Mom's when I said that I wanted Mom's binder cook book full of her hand written recipes.

"No way," he replied with a look of disbelief at my request, "I want it ..."

"For what?" I asked.

"To keep and use," he said with a sad grin on his face, "I plan on cooking more and want to use Mom's recipes ..."

I couldn't argue, nor did I feel inclined. "Okay," I said, "but I want to borrow it sometime to copy it ..."

We agreed, and I watched him carry the funky yellow and orange binder into his room, where a few short days later I retrieved it and gently carried it home ...

Scott was a sentimental old fool ... pictures, cards, notes, and mementos of trips and happenings fill the space in his room. Over and over, I have had the pleasure of sorting through his accumulated piles and laughing at the strange selection of things that he had saved ... I've wept at the pictures of family, friends, vehicles and pets that he has lovingly tucked away in a safe place ... and I've shaken my head in bewilderment at how incredibly tender a soul he possessed.

Finding the box of his childhood stuffies carefully tucked in the back of his closet alongside Dad's guitar, and a variety of other "childish" things stopped me short yesterday as I cleaned and sorted ... as I opened the box I was flooded with a tsunami of memories that took me back to my childhood ... as each stuffie emerged from the box I remembered borrowing them, Scott retrieving them, and the ensuing fights as I questioned his rigid YOU CAN`T PLAY WITH THEM attitude over his toys ...

Scott was not so much a hoarder as a curator over a dizzying collection of artifacts and treasures that had meaning to him ... he preserved carefully things that reminded him of past events and helped him garner the strength he needed to face the challenges before him. One could easily dismiss his room as cluttered and full of junk, but slowly, like any good archaeological dig, peeling back the layers reveals a beautiful, loving, artistic and creative soul, that cherished life, yearned for love, and with a cock-eyed grin and a snarky: "give your head a shake" approached life on his terms, protecting the curly headed boy that lingered deep within ...

In the last six months, as I've sorted through my brother's things I've learned more and more about him, and with each day I've come to miss him more and more, and appreciate him even more ... Scott was an amazing person ...

I wish I could have learned that simple truth before we said 'good bye' ...

I love you bro ... and I'll take good care of your stuff!!!

Church Sign from along the way ...

Lessons from Uncovered Treasures ...

It's not valuable. Just a card with two old one dollar bills tucked inside. And to be honest, I don't remember even giving it to Mom. But for some reason Mom tucked it into one of her dresser drawers and there is sat for 30 years or more until I discovered it yesterday as I was cleaning out more stuff ...

When Mom died and Scott and I began the initial cleaning we KNEW it would be a long and exhausting process. Mom was a pack rat and saved everything. The inventory of saved treasures includes bulletins from confirmations and baptisms of our cousins, invitations to weddings, showers and other family events, stacks and stacks of photos, thank you notes, news paper clippings, and a countless other bits and pieces of our lives and the lives of our circle of friends and family.

Along the way the task was complicated by Scott's unexpected and untimely passing ... but as I've carefully sifted through the assorted detritus in Mom's house I've laughed, smiled, wept, and shaken my head in bemusement ... I've learned quite a lot about my brother, my mother, my father, and my family ... I've read heart breaking notes and letters sent to mom after Dad died, leaving her to raise 'her boys' alone, and I've learned just how hard her struggle was to pick up the pieces following his death in uniform.

Over and over, I marvel at how uncaring, insensitive and unbelievably thoughtless the various social agencies were in response to her requests for help after Dad's death - a death that was 'celebrated' at the time and since as a "sacrifice for the people of Ontario." His death was a sacrifice, but the burden borne by my family was un-necessarily heavy because no one in places of power and influence saw the need to help a family who had suffered an unimaginable loss ... fortunately, the lesson was eventually learned and families like that of Constable Styles in York Region will NEVER experience what Mom went through ... but reading the many, many, many letters she received in the years after Dad's death makes me appreciate how far they've come ... I wish Mom could have benefitted a little more along the way.

And more sadly perhaps, is the repeat that Scott experienced following his accident in the early 1990's. No one who knew Scott before and after the accident can honestly say it didn't profoundly and negatively effect him ... his physical body was wrecked ... his spirit was broken ... and his emotions were ravished ... reading the many submissions he made seeking help and assistance, and the steadfast refusal of almost everyone to accept his plaintive claims is heart breaking. I know my brother carried a lot of anger - some of it came from losing Dad so young - some of it came from the limitations the accident brought to him - and some of it came from the incredible pain he carried day in and day out ... reading his accounts of what the accident did to him is hard ... far harder than I realized, because my big brother held far more pain inside himself then he EVER let on.

And yet, over and over he was told that he was faking his injuries and pain, he was told it was 'all in his head', and he was told that his claims were without substance ... for well over a decade, he fought for someone to honour his claim and give him help so he could have some quality of life ...

Today, looking back over everything I've been through in the last 7 months, and reflecting on what I've learned about my family from sorting and reading through the many letters, notes and documents that have been tucked away and preserved by both Mom and Scott, I can honestly breath a sigh of relief that the burdens they both carried for so long have been taken from them ... but with my relief comes more than just a twinge of sorrow at what they had to endure, and how much they had to fight just to have ANYONE recognize the hurt and pain they carried.

Today, I have a deeper respect for my Mom and my brother Scott for all they endured, but more importantly, I can in faith, breath a sigh of relief that today they are in a place where that burden is well and truly GONE ... For over 42 years, Mom shouldered a burden of grief that should never have been her's to bear alone ... and along the way, she protected and cherished her beloved "boys", and I am a better person for her presence and love in my life, my one regret is that she never had the chance to enjoy freedom from that burden in this life ...

Thanks Mom ... I love you more and more every day !!
I miss you, and I will never forget you, AND I am proud to remain "your boy"!!

Sermons and Other Stuff ...

Pop over to 'United Church in the Grey Highlands' for my latest sermons and other offerings, which I just updated this morning.

Rather than fearing modern technology, the folks in the Flesherton Pastoral Charge have embraced the potential and possibilities of using social media, online resources and even blogs as a means of outreach ... funny the difference a supportive community can make !!!

Check out our Pastoral Charge Web Page too: http://stjohnsunitedchurch.com/

Our God is a God of Love and Acceptance:

It is coming up on almost six years since the fire that destroyed the Church building in Minnedosa, and disrupted the lives of many ... since then life has moved on, people have forgotten the lessons that were offered, and many have simply turned their back on the horrendous events of that terrible night, and the ongoing repercussions that continue to resonate throughout the community of Minnedosa and the lives of those affected by the fire and the loss of the building.

For some, things are 'all better now', while for others (and I'd dare to say that this group far exceeds those who say 'it's all better') the effect is still being felt ... they say time heals all wounds, and while that might be true, untended wounds fester and become infected and in time can kill thier host ... Pretending it's all better serves no one, particularly the Church we are called to be ... moving on and ignoring the hurt and pain of our neighbours doesn't bring healing, it just means things linger and fester ...

Fortunately though, despite the best efforts of the willingfully blind, healing (the very Grace of God in action) comes and we that receive it are better for it ... Time does heal all wounds, but ONLY when there is honesty and openness ...

This week I once again found a comment on the posting I offered in 2007 when someone took the example of the fire and said it was 'proof' that God hates Goths ... this notion of God hating any one continues to be a ludicrious affront to all things Faithful, and shows the misuse of faith that people are capable of when they are overwhelmed with fear.

Our God is a God of love, and despite our best efforts to the contrary, our God will never be thwarted by our shortsightedness, our fears, and our insecurities ... the fire in Minnedosa and the events in the five years since underscores the folly that is experienced when people fail to surrender themselves to God ... fortunately, God's whisper continues despite the best efforts of those who fear the light (a reader's comment from the blog posting of Jan 21st 2007):

I do consider myself goth as well as catholic. Thank God for people like you, who understand that god is a force of love, not hate and that those who preach hate in his name only make the faithful look bad. Admittedly, I can be a bit violent at times (being a gamer, a goth, and asexual means that I'm an easy person to hate, and the large amounts of bullying at an early age have caused me to be a little to quick to cure intolerance with a knee to the crotch)and I do not go to church as much as i ought to (the intolerant fools sorta do a good job in scaring people away). Honestly, internet being what it is, these people are one of three things.

1) Hateful fools who I desperately hope god will cure.

2) Forum trolls being offensive, in need of psychiatric help to deal with underlying emotional conditions.

3) Intelligent people making a stealth parody of the above two and just did too good of a job. (yes these sorts of things are way more common than people realize)

ps, the odd name comes from a WoW alt

To those who claim "it's ALL better now" ... one day you WILL be called to account for your actions ...

Kinda Grim ...

The John Deere lawn tractor I brought home from Mom's has some rather grim warning stickers on it (as pictured above)

I think they get the point across rather effectively. Makes me wonder though, just who has been using garden tractors and HOW, to necessitate these kind of warnings!?!?

Fair Trade !!

I am LOVING the fact that the folks here at Flesherton have not only supported, but have EMBRACED the sale of Fair Trade products !!!

We have a WIDE range of coffee from THREE (yes, THREE) different companies, and as of today, we have dried fruit, tea, chocolate, sugar and even Fair Trade Merchandise available at the Church Office as well as at booths at two Farmers' Markets !!!

So far the Pastoral Charge has realized a profit of close to $500 dollars in less than a month, and we've raised the level of awareness in the community about our presence, and about Fair Trade tremendously.

It feels good just know you can really make a difference sometimes !!!

43 Years Ago ...

This week in York Region, family, friends and fellow officers will gather to say farewell to Constable Styles, who died on duty this past week ...

I've thought of his children frequently in the last few days ... I know too well the journey they are about to embark upon. Like them, I was too young to know my Father when he fell on duty on June 29th 1968 ... he would be known to me through the stories and recollections of others who shared their memories with me over the years ... I never knew my Dad, but I grew up knowing that I missed him, and that I had missed out on a special man ...

My Dad was, like Constable Styles a hero before the accident that claimed his life, and remained a hero subsequent to his death ...

There is much about Dad I wish I could have known ... I wish I could have heard his laughter, felt his touch, head his voice, shared a beer with him, and enjoyed the many things that gave him joy in his life, beginning with his family ...

Forty Three years ago this week Constable Samuel Ankenmann died while on duty with the OPP, and today for the first time, I am alone in missing him ... I hope the journey ahead is different for the Styles children. I know they will get more support and help than Scott and I ever got - from help to go to school, through to more than an occassional visit from the detachment commanding officer, the children of fallen officers are not forgotten in the same way Scott and I were ... we were simply a statistic after a few years ...

Fortunately this is NOT something that will happen to the Styles children, and for that I am grateful ... losing a father is hard enough, but struggling day after day, year after year with no help and little support tears away at you ... and my brother and I both experienced this in our lives ...

Time heals all wounds ... but sometimes it takes a LONG time to heal ...

Trying ...

I've wanted to blog ... I've been trying to blog ... but over the last couple of months I've honestly struggled with what I could offer here ...

I don't want this blog to become an introspective and maudlin place full of sad postings about how I'm feeling and how much I miss my Mom and my brother, and grieve thier passing ... and so, I often forego coming here and posting anything ... I'm still grieving and still struggling, and that shouldn't surprise anyone. Afterall, I've often counselled families in grieve with the teaching drawn from our Jewish brothers and sisters, that it takes a year to feel somewhat normal.

In the many resources I've read over the last two decades on death and grief, I've read over and over how the Jewish customs of mourning last for over a year, with requirements to honour and respect the breadth of feelings that accompany the mourner. I get it in a real way today ...

Overall, I'm doing okay ... most days I can do what needs to be done, and face the world ... but some days I feel more like crawling into bed and letting the world pass me by.

There is seldom a day that goes by wherein I don't think of Mom, Scott, Mr Baumbach, Indigo, and how much I miss each of them ... it's been a hard year thus far ... but I also trust AND BELIEVE that it will get better. Such is the promise of the Resurrection!

Frequently I find myself lapsing into silence ... preferring to just stand present in the moment and let both the past and the future go ... instead of experiencing the acuteness of missing my family, I find myself surrounded by thoughts and memories of the journeys we've shared, and the happenings that marked our lives together, and in spite of my sorrow I can smile and remember ...

As one of my favourite funeral readings reminds us: memory is a powerful thing ... those we remember are never really gone, their presence is still felt among us ...

Most of my days lately are taken up trying to keep up with work, life, and family ... and scattered throughout the day are memories and their powerful recollection of lost loved ones who are gone, but not really forgotten ...

As Forrest Gump would say (for the moment) "that's all I have to say about that!"

Dayenu!